


Spiced Up Slice

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (slice of pie), Barebacking, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, Top Miya Atsumu, Vanilla, handjobs, is not the flavor of this pie, it’s a banana cream pie duh, porn-with-attempt-at-plot, watching porn-without-plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 1. lay down pornhub-flavored dough in heavy-bottom(i)ed saucepan2. whisk two hunky athletes into single mixture3. bake at overheat for at least 30 minutes
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 225
Collections: Anonymous, Bottomi Week 2021





	Spiced Up Slice

**Author's Note:**

> I hope among us players appreciate that the acronym for this fic is "SUS" it's somewhat intentional bc I love that game ok
> 
> welcome to installment five of my sakuatsu smut, written for [day 3 of Bottomi Week 2021: Creampie](https://twitter.com/bottomiweek)
> 
> since I’m still on anon you can find my previous explicit sakuatsu works here:  
> [TMx3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787083) / [WSWM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443362) / [TCTC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567103) / [ABAO](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790006)
> 
> you can also [bug me on twitter (18+ only)](https://twitter.com/asakuatsu) / [graphic for this fic](https://twitter.com/aSAKUATSU/status/1366911365873565697)

Osaka’s dusk is always one of contradiction, the flickering-on of neon lights washing out alleys housing muted chatter. It’s multi-faceted, but it’s also home - the setting for lazy mornings and daily practices and first dates and whatever else moments in life. The calendar in the video rental store announces Friday, one stark blank following a row of X’ed out grids. Fridays belong to the “whatever else” category: movie night, once a week, usually consisting of a blockbuster with mediocre visual effects.

They’ve been together for five months now, and the days press on in much less dramatic fashion than anyone anticipates. For years, conflict had fed the roots of their rivalry, spreading it from high school sidelines to professional courts. But soil dug so deep had ironically strengthened some sort of foundation, and when stems had finally met the sun - when emotion and realization had dawned - the next step had been as natural as daylight.

“Let’s just date.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

Atsumu doesn’t even remember whether he had asked or answered.

He does remember the past few months - how gradual assimilation into each other’s space had subdued their bouts, how subtle neatness had begun to pervade his apartment. They’ve just reached the point where Kiyoomi no longer shies away from public displays of affection, and the occasional curl of those long fingers around Atsumu’s palm makes him glow brighter than any store sign.

The sex is good, often great. After all, it’s hard to complain when your boyfriend is a 192-cm giant with the most flexible body in the universe. But semi-experimental positions aside, it’s difficult to gauge exactly how much Kiyoomi enjoys their romps atop the sheets. He’s both expressive and not, the arches of his bones saying more than his voice box ever might.

Atsumu knows Kiyoomi more than just likes him, pretty sure that the ongoing sex means he at least  _ tolerates _ him. But as with the other subdued routines of their romance - or whatever this may be - there’s a clear split between the  _ court _ and  _ ship _ of their co-existence. It’s a tidbit of  _ something _ present during daily practices, yet lacking within their bedroom chemistry.

Nonetheless, they’ve settled in this strange, six-month calm now; mornings in, evenings out. It’s a necessary balance for those constant explosions of adrenaline, but it’s also placid - borderline  _ vanilla. _

Friday nights. Movie nights. Atsumu leans closer to the display, perusing another dreadful synopsis in tiny text.

“Omi-kun, how about this o…” He sees nothing but air where his boyfriend had once stood. “Omi-kun?”

“In here.”

The voice reaches him as muffled soundwaves, passing through the nearby curtain shielding a backroom.

  
Atsumu gulps deep, knowing exactly what lies behind the mysterious safeguard even without any written signs. But regardless, he seeks out the source, curious as to what will transpire next.

Beyond hung fabric reside many more shelves, their contents anything but appropriate for a standard movie night.

“Why are ya…”

“Took a wrong turn.” Kiyoomi explains as he browses, his tone a metaphorical shrug.

Atsumu forces his gaze straight ahead, not daring to land eyes upon any of the racy DVD covers or titles. Further along the aisle, however, the adult section’s other patron decides to do more than just look.

“Hm.” Thin fingers pick up one box clearly displaying  _ shibari. _ “Interesting.”

Loitering behind, Atsumu fights an urge to snatch the case and return it to where it belongs. “Urm...have ya watched a lotta porn before?”

Maybe it’s a stupid ask, but this is one side of his boyfriend that he legitimately has never questioned, much less researched. He does recall Kiyoomi being somewhat experienced during their first time, but he had never known the exact  _ kind _ of intimate instruction received.

“Not a lot. It all seems too contrived - so I prefer the real thing.” As if reading his thoughts, Kiyoomi asserts in that usual, candid-yet-endearing way.

“Oh. Okay.” Both the bluntness and the admission catch Atsumu unaware, and the mention of “real thing” gives him pause.

While he digests, Kiyoomi takes off again, wandering like they’re in a 7-Eleven deciding between one midnight snack or another. Atsumu can only follow with awkward posture, unsure of what to say or do.

“Atsumu.”

The abrupt hail of his name is chock full of curiosity, but what comes next only dumbfounds.

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to try with me in bed?”

A usually-dynamic tongue ties, forcing his throat to release one sound only. “Huh?”

Kiyoomi turns back, expression as serious as can be. “Show me an example, from all of these.”

Rather than shaping words, Atsumu’s mind answers the request instinctually, like it’s just another call of “left.” Eyes quickly dart side-to-side, up-and-down, seeking out something halfway eligible. He doesn’t have unique fetishes - he  _ thinks _ \- but every vagary under the sun currently surrounds them in cinematic form, making the task of finding suitable content burdensome.

At least, if Kiyoomi decides to break up with him in between rows of naked housewives and hentai, it’d be  _ quite _ the life story to retell in his later years.

Thankfully, his vision finally pinpoints one particular title, bearing one  _ very _ specific strain of hiragana, describing one  _ very _ specific kink.

_ Oh. _ Flustered yet almost relieved, he plucks the case from its abode, and - despite all internal screams to the contrary - timidly hands it to his awaiting beau.

Kiyoomi grabs the offering without reluctance, unruffled by the censored images overlaying plastic.

_ “Na-ka-da-shi?” _ His neck stretches as he enunciates character by character, suspicious yet emphatic.

Atsumu nearly jumps, startled at the difference between printed and voiced obscenity.  _ “Shit, _ Omi-kun. Ya can’t just say that out loud!”

“I don’t see anyone around.” A frown and a dissent counter his hiss. “What even is it?”

“It’s…” The mere thought heats Atsumu’s face to a boil, his mind parading a reel of visuals only ever fantasized. “Let’s just say it’s what happens at the very end - _ if  _ ya don’t have sex with a condom.”

Across from him, impassive eyes blink hard. Twice.

“You mean like when I suck you off, and everything ends up in my mouth, only...it’s down below?”

There is so little euphemism - just direct description spoken with direct intentions. But correct guesses always bear some merit, so this particular question triggers both vivid memories and secret wants. Thus far in their relationship, Atsumu has been conscious to withhold the latter, not wishing to overstep boundaries already carefully lowered. So whether he pumps into Kiyoomi from behind or folds that lean body six ways from Sunday, foreplay always ends with lube and rubber - adhering to the Sakusa Kiyoomi Kama Sutra of Hygienic Sex. It’s just another playbook they have followed closely, like one of the many courtesy of Coach Foster.

But then again, as they stand in this special court - where palms slap very different types of balls, and where position and angle bear whole new meanings - Atsumu can’t help but consider a different strategy.

_ Sometimes, the best play is an impromptu one. _

“Yeah, that’s exactly right.” For now, he confirms Kiyoomi’s raunchy assumption, but leaves a new door ajar for whatever might enter.

“I see.” His boyfriend glances back at the DVD with a critical eye, before slamming said door wide open. “Can we rent this, too, then? With whatever you found out there?”

Atsumu stammers, his brain enduring mini blackouts at the suggestion.

“Why...why would ya wan...wanna do that?”

“Even if we try it ourselves in bed, I wouldn’t be able to see anything, right?” Seemingly unaware of the nearby toil, Kiyoomi pads his request with logic. “Watching other people do it would be the only way.”

It’s valid reasoning, though Atsumu knows the heterosexual version the DVD contains wouldn’t exactly have anatomical accuracy. Briefly, the ideas of using a mirror or recording themselves surface, but he quickly discards both for the sake of avoiding more awkward scenarios. In the end, one final alternative remains.

“Hold on, please - put that back.” His palms seal together in a plea. “I’ll show ya somethin’ better at home if ya want. They dun’ rent ones starrin’ two guys here, but on the internet...”

A bemused smirk embellishes Kiyoomi’s face, almost smug as he places the case back on the shelf. “Of course  _ you _ know exactly where to find other versions.”

“Hey! I haven’t watched anything like this since we started datin’, I swear!”

The smirk curls harder.

“Well, it’s movie night, right?”

-*-

One bus ride and thirty minutes in the bathroom later, Atsumu finds himself in nothing but a bathrobe, browsing through rows and rows of risqué thumbnails as he leans against his headboard. It’s then that Kiyoomi enters the bedroom, freshly showered and robed himself. Beneath terry cloth stands a pliant frame, currently upright but looking ready for another carnal workout.

Two areas of uncharted territory rest ahead of them: movie night starring internet porn, and the unknown direction viewing it may lead. Both combined wouldn’t merely spice up their relationship, but dump a huge heap of flavorful seasoning.

As they gape at each other from opposite walls, a myriad of thoughts dash through Atsumu’s head, fielding doubts and concerns.

_ What happens if he hates what he sees? Or worse, what if he gets too into it? _

He can’t decide whether he prefers a disgusted Kiyoomi or a ferocious one.

Hesitant, he slaps the mattress in invitation, and Kiyoomi - no hesitation at all - strides across the room before sliding in next to him. Despite initial enthusiasm, his eyes immediately widen at the array of erotic images on display, each one far more explicit than those on the shelves. Nevertheless, no complaint or judgment sounds from Kiyoomi’s side. Instead, he stares at numerous forms of nudity without comment, as if analyzing their exact appeal.

_ Intrigue is a good start, at least. _ Atsumu shifts the laptop until it finds new foundation atop both their thighs.

“I think...this one might be pretty good.” He maneuvers the pointer via trackpad, leaving it to hover above two nude torsos confined in a letterbox frame. The all-caps English title includes a certain, rather conspicuous word, but he refrains from reading any spoilers aloud.

As he had done in the video store, Kiyoomi’s long neck stretches forward, straining to perceive yet another ridiculous phrase - albeit this time, in another language. He mouths the earlier words to himself -  _ TWO HUNKY ATHLETES GET DOWN AND DIRTY, FROM FOREPLAY TO _ \- but utters the last one without a hint of accent.

“Creampie?”

For this instance, Kiyoomi’s foreign language skill is an unfortunate plus, and the shameless accuracy of the pronunciation sends Atsumu into mild madness. There’s the urge to close the laptop cover and forego this plan altogether, but sincere curiosity lingers in Kiyoomi’s tone, and a need to live out that luscious fantasy lingers within himself. So he moves forth, disturbing the usual calm and ushering them into another stage.

“Yah, ‘creampie’ is what it’s called in English.” The attempt at remaining matter-of-fact works at first, but he can’t resist a jest. “Hope that doesn’t ruin dessert for ya.”

The younger man winces, noticeably perturbed by the visuals within his head. “I’ll manage. You know I don’t like sweets that much, anyhow.”

Atsumu snorts, and clicks in.

“Then here we go.”

At the dead center of a window going full screen, the buffering circle rotates and rotates, akin to gears in Atsumu’s head determining how exactly his boyfriend will react. Soon, the scene sets on a well-lit bedroom, floor-to-ceiling windows and all. minimalist furniture, brand-new sheets, tedious decor - not a single detail amiss.

Arms fold next to him, implying a measure of disbelief.

“Why is the lighting this bright? And everything is so... _ high-definition.” _

“I guess porn production values have improved lately.”

They nearly jump when two bodies rush into view, donning cheap athleticwear as they collide and rebound. Husky chuckles follow off-frame, though one rings even more false than the other. When the camera pans, it captures a blond and a brunette around their age, flashing flirty smiles as they engage in a cheesy English exchange.

_ “I’ve been watching you all day. Wanted to fuck you so bad.” _

_ “Oh yeah? Come on baby. Come get me.” _

“Ugh. This acting.” Kiyoomi buries his face into a rising palm, not bothering to hide any distaste.

On the contrary, Atsumu can’t help but recall every time he had stared at his boyfriend at practice for a tad too long.  _ At least the script is not  _ too _ off-the-mark. _

But Kiyoomi groans, so Atsumu clears both the thought and his throat. “I usually skip ahead to the good stuff, but I thought maybe ya wanted to know the story--”

New fingers instantly shove off Atsumu’s upon the trackpad, and the video footage fasts forward under fresh command, speeding through minutes of likely terrible dialogue and scrapped clothing until two nearly threadbare bodies dominate the screen.

At last, Kiyoomi retreats. “Better.”

As the footage resumes, Atsumu holds back his own quips to weigh his boyfriend’s reaction towards the next scenes. Even as indecent noises rise in volume, he ignores them in favor of enjoying the tiny shifts in Kiyoomi’s expression - amused, then concerned, and then amused again.

He snakes his arm behind a perched back, collecting the opposite shoulder in a firm grasp. Without any proposition, Kiyoomi cants into him like a natural reflex. 

“Ya like ‘em?”

“They’re good-looking, sure.” A deep voice mumbles, conveying little emotional investment. “But I like who I wake up to perfectly fine.”

The bluntness causes Atsumu to grin, partly relieved, partly moved. He glances back at two actors now fully in lust, their every touch and grind performed with extreme fervor. But somehow, that eroticism pales compared to the words he had just heard. 

In response, he plants a quick peck upon Kiyoomi’s temple, and swears that all 192 cm of him heats up another few degrees.

That same second, they’re granted a close-up of tongues roving wild, and Atsumu can’t hold back a genuine compliment.

“Oh. Nice.”

Kiyoomi’s temple knocks back at his mouth this time, as if bothered - as if needing to distract.

“How well do I kiss, compared to that?”

When Atsumu looks down, a pair of earnest eyes stare back, beseeching. Unwittingly, he taps at his lip. The hits are much lighter than how his palms landed earlier upon the mattress, but they’re invitations nonetheless.

Kiyoomi closes in, bridging the gap between them without script or direction. The first touch is light, pending escalation. But when a foreign moan escapes the laptop speakers, an insistent mouth snaps into command - heeding,  _ needing _ all the attention available within their room.

Atsumu gives back generously and audibly, enough to render other noises moot. Those recent images of two strangers’ tongues quickly become unneeded memories, fading to the back of his mind while Kiyoomi ravishes the front. The claim carries passion no camera can capture, trumping any fiction with their reality.

Atsumu grabs the hand clutching the front of his robe, ushering it downward to cup his arousal. Powerful fingers immediately wrap around the bulge, stirring him enough to detach from the kiss.

“Does  _ that _ answer your question?” He gestures towards where they’re newly joined.

Kiyoomi’s beestung lips resemble a pout, though Atsumu knows he’d never admit to showing one. Before either of them speak, a flash of color on the laptop screen ropes in both their eyes again.

It’s the color of briefs, red as sin shedding from skin. And then, they see that thumbnail moment unfrozen - two naked bodies now kinetic, tumbling onto the most comfortable flat surface of the sterile set. The shots are intimate enough that one can see the slightest flex of muscle, and even all the fuzz along entangled legs. 

Everything is hypnotic, leaving them motionless as the action unfolds. It’s strangely like one of their regular movie night features, just with a different type of imminent climax. When the top body lifts just enough to reveal a well-endowed existence - Atsumu blinks hard to ensure that it’s no special effect - an eager hand reaches to grasp it, stroking the length with excessive zeal.

As if motivated, Kiyoomi begins to fondle him - not mimicking whatever is on film, but deliberately at his own pace.

“Not a bad size.” He mutters nonchalantly, as if commenting on a volleyball opponent’s prowess. “Especially when you consider the height-to-length ratio.”

Atsumu isn’t sure which blond the remark targets, but decides he doesn’t care when bliss overtakes judgment. With those last bits of deduction, he sees a closed fist onscreen quicken its efforts, each tug and caress aimed at maximizing euphoria. Despite working over a layer of terry cloth, Kiyoomi also intensifies his own movements, unwilling to back down.

“O...Omi…” He chokes out.

“I feel like I can do better than him, don’t you?”

Atsumu drops his head back, breaths heavy with desire. “Yeah, yeah - yer doin’  _ great.” _

From their mouths to the speakers, real and artificial sounds mingle together. Without warning, Kiyoomi traces a finger from one of Atsumu’s inner thighs to the other, teasing sensations yet to be given in full. But the anticipation, combined with Kiyoomi’s competitiveness against his 2D counterpart, generates something more volatile than if Atsumu were directly pleasured. His hips buck greedily, clamoring for every touch. But when Kiyoomi lands a tame bite against his pulse, elation beneath his skin shoves out words contrary to wants.

“Omi, hold on.  _ Wait.” _ He pleads against the demands of his body. “Gonna explode if ya keep goin’.”

Kiyoomi pulls back, voice unnervingly taunting. “Am I too skilled? Or is that guy’s endurance just better than yours?”

Provoked, Atsumu avoids the leading question and takes control, just as he attempts with every flagrant challenge. With a speedy slip of his wrist, the belt of Kiyoomi’s robe loosens from the sudden, additional girth. And as fingers dive under to capture a hidden but half-hard arousal, he voices his true version of reality.

“No one’s better than me there. Least of all you, Omi-kun.”

In a total reversal from his earlier self, Kiyoomi’s whole frame slackens, frail moans as shaky as jittering eyelashes. Atsumu shoves with his forearm, tilting that dark-nested head upright enough to continue savoring their free entertainment. Right then, the scene cuts, rushing timelines even more forward for the impatient. Two bodies have sealed together now, the sparks of their friction almost visible as they move in tandem. The actor above has penetrated in a missionary position, his ass clenching into mouthwatering shapes as it thrusts at a sensual speed.

“Don’t get  _ too _ distracted by me, though.” Driven by the spectacle, Atsumu unleashes the wicked tongue that had been caged for far too long. “Ya’ll miss the best part of the show.”

Kiyoomi complies, sluggish but attentive as he ruts into a devoted palm. His eyes glue themselves to the explicit scene, cherishing the seductive sight doubling as a sort of omen. Framed front-and-center for their enjoyment, a stretched channel serves as a cock’s only sheath, slick and filled - and soon to be filled in a second way.

“Ya like what yer seein’?” Atsumu hisses, all self-control deserted. “Notice somethin’ missin’?”

Weakened by the interrogation, a lanky body rises and falls, resembling the unstable soundwave that follows.

“There’s no...condom…”

“That’s right. Which means this ends with?”

“Na...nakadashi…?”

Atsumu nips at a cheekbone, now glistening with sweat, as confirmation. He detaches for a moment to reach back towards the nightstand, seeking where their usual necessities reside. The lube he retrieves relocates from container to skin, its slippery contents eventually finding their way in between Kiyoomi’s legs, like a reward for that correct response.

“See how damn hot what they’re doin’ is?” He digs into the warm ring of muscle carefully, but cares little for softening his speech. “It’s exactly what we’d look like if I fucked ya raw.”

The brash words brim with promise, and Kiyoomi squirms at both physical and mental invasions. His small cries amplify alongside the video’s existing duet, creating an untamed chorus.

Suddenly, a visible section of back muscles go taut onscreen, and the thrusts also come to a halt. The footage swiftly, shamelessly zooms in, capturing milky liquid leaking out the bottom of a still-stuffed hole. The sight is perfect in all its wantonness, and Atsumu knows that had he been touching his own cock, he might’ve also exploded then and there.

“Shit, Atsumu -  _ stop it.” _ The beg affirms that his theory applies elsewhere as well.

As with before, he isn’t sure what the command refers to. But Kiyoomi seldom sounds this urgent, so he stops the handjob at one end, and scrambles to slam his laptop cover closed at the other.

“Ya alright?” Looking back, he deescalates both actions and words.

Below a mess of hair, shortened breaths battle for recovery. “Fuck, that was...it is....”

“It’s what?”

Kiyoomi takes a long huff prior to locking their gazes, eyes glassy and full of realization.

“It’s not just a fetish for you, is it?”

Atsumu stares blankly, mind a total void at first, but eventually gathering enough sense for a few profound words. “No, it’s not. Like I said - it’s just somethin’ I wanna do with you.”

“And why do you want this?”

The question is like a second dawn, lighting a new phase of their relationship that had been patiently waiting in the wings. Within the tranquility of their nights, there is one thing they had always forgotten to carry from the court to behind closed doors, one thing Atsumu has never known how to articulate until now.

“Because this is...another sign of trust.” At last, the right word rolls off his tongue. “I know it’s already there whenever we play, but I hope ya actually believe that I like ya more than just the sex, and  _ way _ more than any shitty porn. I mean, unlike those guys, I haven’t been with anyone else since we got together.”

“Me neither.”

“So I guess, I want more of it.” He crawls closer, earnest but careful to not pressure. “Yer trust that even if I come inside ya it’s...safe, and will feel good.”

Kiyoomi studies him, mouth slightly parted in contemplation, and then - like Atsumu had done twice previous - invitation.

“Yeah, me too...I think I’ve also wanted more of that, for us.”

A knuckle brushes Atsumu’s cheek, softer than any other gesture granted to him over the course of their bond. Heartened, he takes hold of the wrist bestowing confidence, and kisses the connected palm.

“And ya know I’ll always give ya whatever ya want, Omi-kun.”

Their lips reunite, linking both breath and body as they manifest that salacious title -  _ TWO HUNKY ATHLETES GET DOWN AND DIRTY. _ In the scramble, both robes and laptop disappear into the lower elevation of the floor, while their combined strength soon rolls the taller of two figures atop.

Atsumu feels blessed everywhere by a Kiyoomi desperate to touch, desperate to trust. And when that lean form sits up, ending the connection of their mouths but teasing another one down below, his fingers quickly resume what he had already started minutes ago. Kiyoomi chokes on a gasp as he’s worked open again, a pair of struggling hands clawing at the skin along Atsumu’s torso.

_ Two, scissor. Three, scissor. _

The steps are as methodical as all their daytime drills, but as with the rushed uncertainties of an actual match, what comes next requires staunch faith and conviction.

He grips his patient cock, blanketing it with remnant lube before guiding the uncovered tip towards a certain haven. The action is slow, testing, but Kiyoomi forges ahead by pressing downward, accepting his length with no hesitation and all the fervor. Tonight, no barrier exists - just nerves against nerves, every bump and pulse felt firsthand. 

“Oh shit... _ shit.” _ Atsumu’s eyes roll back, barely able to withstand the sensitivity of this new link. “Feels  _ so _ fuckin’ good, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi reacts with fervent rolls of hips, his insides hooking Atsumu deeper and deeper with each cycle. A loose erection pursues the momentum, bouncing upon flat abs in halved rhythms, wild and percussive.

“Fuck...I can feel every bit of you… _ Ah!” _

The yelp comes as Atsumu takes hold of the exposed cock, taming yet invigorating it with the same, tender treatments as minutes ago. Between them are now countless points of slick friction, each bearing its own reserve of energy, culminating to form a sphere of dependency that contains them both.

Kiyoomi’s ass begins to slam down faster, and Atsumu writhes as he grapples with the surging pleasure. Before both of them spin out of control, he regains his command for a split second, anchoring fingertips at the top of spread thighs and flipping them over. It’s an imitation of the footage that had just graced their eyes, but through subtle gestures - a kiss to the collarbone, gentle massages to a hamstring - he adds those degrees of sincerity that will always be absent in fictional performances.

“Atsumu…” The call of his name is weak and barely audible, but strength still permeates through the curled fingers securing around his shoulders.

He hugs the lean torso beneath him close, aligning the lengths of their bodies before thrusting with abandon, lunging into intimate nooks with nothing but flesh and skin. Though arranged in the most basic of positions, Kiyoomi’s gasps quickly evolve into shouts of crazed satisfaction, as if unable to restrain any physical response.

Mind throbbing with want, Atsumu growls a reflection of his wayward thoughts.

“Are ya thinkin’ about what my cock looks like, buryin’ straight into ya?”

“Mm...hmm…” Cries turn into docile whimpers, doubling as affirmative.

“Ya want all my come inside, Omi?”

“Yes...fill me up.” The explicit order sounds, but a confession also attaches. “Tru...trust you, Tsumu.”

The simple words empty Atsumu of all other wants, propelling every muscle towards fulfilling that confidence, towards satisfying that need. With a few powerful pumps, he roars, flooding that delicious tightness with everything that’s his - and, perhaps, also making Kiyoomi truly his. Seed spills like nourishment for long-deprived walls, surpassing all that had been artificial or inadequate from any past nights.

Only on his descent from the high does Atsumu notice fluid soaking his stomach, the wet sensation coupled with faint pain from scratches down his back. Kiyoomi has taken on the form of putty, yielding all his stamina as he drifts into a half-asleep state.

Atsumu maneuvers himself then, keeping Kiyoomi’s hips elevated even as he pops out gently and scoots himself backward. The sight that welcomes him between raised cheeks is everything he always imagined: hints of white overflowing from that round crevice, a strangely splendid symbol of Kiyoomi’s ultimate acceptance of  _ him. _

It looks like something vanilla, yet is anything but.

He crawls to the side, needing to divert eyes before his cock pipes up again. The urge to praise, however, persists.

“Look at ya, so filled with me.”

The head of the bed remains silent, but he catches Kiyoomi crossing his legs and clenching his ass, as if needing to secure every single drop.

He snorts, planting a kiss on an idle shoulder. “Ya get me now, Omi-kun? Why I love this?”  _ Why I love ya like this? _

Kiyoomi turns to him, somehow looking both dismayed and pleased at once. “I don’t think I can ever go back. To not being fucked by  _ all _ of you.”

“Ya hate me for that?”

“No.” Hints of satisfaction take over. “Quite the opposite.”

Grinning, Atsumu draws his lover into an embrace, and they reenter the lull that has defined their usual nights. It is then, however, that a final realization dawns: perhaps, trust had already bloomed through all their experiences, from the subtle to the intense. Its existence is what enables them to enjoy even the most ridiculous things together, and on occasion, extract bits of meaning from silliness.

At last, Atsumu feels assured they will always follow each other’s lead - through volleyball, movie nights, or whatever else.

For now, it’s another whatever else.

“Let’s just sleep.” One of them suggests.

“Yeah. Let’s.” The other accepts.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes I think they just lead...fairly regular (sex) lives outside of the sport?
> 
> ty for reading
> 
> other sakuatsu smutty goodness: [TMx3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787083) / [WSWM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443362) / [TCTC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567103) / [ABAO](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790006)
> 
> [bug me on twitter (18+ only)](https://twitter.com/asakuatsu) / [graphic for this fic](https://twitter.com/aSAKUATSU/status/1366911365873565697)
> 
> **psa: this is likely my last explicit sakuatsu long fic unless some serious inspiration hits in the future...I'll still be hosting h hours on my twitter from now on so see you there <3 there are also still a few more upcoming fics for my main ao3 account - feel free to ask if you don't know what it is!**
> 
> kudos/feedback always appreciated!


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